Ain't It Fun
by The Sugarfaerie
Summary: Set ten years after WWRY. Whoever said there was such thing as a happy ending?


_Alors, je retourne à la section! _So, I return to the section!

I got the inspiration for listening to a cover song by Guns n' Roses called Ain't It Fun, the original performers of which I no longer remember. Ah well, it's still a good song.

Disclaimer: No, don't own WWRY, don't own the odd song lyric… man, this is depressing.

Ain't It Fun 

Unlike most bohemians, Madonna hated black. Black represented death, destruction and unhappiness, so as a result she avoided wearing the colour whenever possible.

Today had not been one of those times.

Madonna laughed slightly when she realised the irony of her own situation. Of course, when you only wore black to funerals, black could only have one meaning, couldn't it? The glass clinked as she replaced it on the counter. Another funeral, another opportunity to wear the garb of mourning. Black would always mean death.

It had been a small affair. Few of the original bohemians were still in frequent contact with one another, life having taken them separate ways a few years ago, and few people knew the deceased well enough to care. As for those who had, well, Cheeky Fairy's days were numbered anyway.

Madonna glared at her black pants with distaste as she tapped the counter with her glass, an unspoken signal to the man on the other side. It was a shame, really, that more people hadn't turned up to Cheeky Fairy's funeral. Some of the newer bohemians, the 'Next Generation' as they had lovingly or even perhaps mockingly been named, had turned up out of a sense of duty, as a tribute to one of the original bohemians who had always scared them a bit, Madonna could tell. It had become easy to be scared of Cheeky Fairy. As she grew older the girl had retreated further and further into her own mind, until it was impossible to communicate with her at all. She never spoke, but would utter a shrill, animal scream at the slightest provocation. As the years went by, a young child with a few oddities grew into a young woman hell bent on her own destruction. When she was found dead one morning, no one was surprised.

Madonna pulled at a loose thread at her knee, trying not to cough from the smoky air that filled the pub. Oz hadn't turned up to the funeral, she being one of the many who had left. At first she had hung around with the original bohemians, lonely and depressed, until one day the year before Bob had taken off in direction of the Oceania precinct, taking Oz with him. No one had heard from them since.

Music from a re-wired jukebox pumped through the room at medium volume while a long dead singer screamed out the lyrics from within. _Ain't it fun when you're always on the run…_

"Madsy love, that's your sixth one," Seal's voice breathed from behind the counter, her heart-shaped faced creased with concern. Ever since she and Big Macca had taken over the bar from Pop, Seal had kept a constant, anxious vigil over some of the heavier drinkers. Often she refused to serve patrons who were too smashed. When asked, she said that it was her duty.

"Come off it, Seal. I can take care of myself," Madonna growled. Seal pursed her lips at the distinct slur in Madonna's voice, but she turned away. Madonna turned her attention back to her glass, until a small blonde figure half sat, half fell onto the stool beside her.

"Good to see somethings don't change. You're as much of a drunk now as you were then," a familiar voice giggled.

Madonna raised her eyes and looked into Oz's grinning face. "Well, hello, stranger," she breathed.

Oz's smile widened. "Did you miss me?" she said in what she thought or hoped was a joking tone, but Madonna could hear the desperate hope beneath it.

"Sure I did. Everyone did. Prince had the spare tire of his mini-van painted black in mourning."

Oz giggled again. "You mean he still has that old thing?"

Madonna nodded sagely. "Yes. Although it feels like it's about to break apart if you sit in it. Anyway, what's brought you back to this side of the world?"

Oz's smile slipped a bit, and she shrugged slightly. "No real reason. I got a bit sick of Australia. Too quiet."

Madonna had to laugh at that one. Only Oz would call one of the number one party spots in the world 'quiet'. "So, is Bob back too, then?" she asked.

Oz paused, as if she wasn't sure what exactly to tell Madonna. Then she shook her head slightly. "So, how are you and Charlotte nowadays?" she asked by way of changing the subject.

Madonna winced as if she had been stung. "We're… taking a break," she finished lamely. She didn't want to go into details, about how Charlotte had gotten fed up with Madonna coming home drunk every night, and had stormed out. Her final words had hurt Madonna as if someone had burnt her. _I'm not going to be your babysitter! Godammit, Madonna, I love you, but this has got to stop. _The irony of the situation was that through Charlotte's abrupt departure, Madonna's drinking habit had actually increased. "We will get back together," she said, almost as if to reassure herself of the fact. "We just need some time apart."

Oz nodded. "Bob and I are taking a break too," she volunteered bravely.

Madonna raised her eyebrows at this new information. So that was why Oz was back. "Are you going to get back together?" she asked tentatively, not wanting to push Oz's buttons.

Oz examined the tabletop as if it was the most interesting thing on earth. "I doubt it. He had just gotten a job playing bass in this Australian band, so he wasn't exactly happy when I told him that I was going home. He told me that he was ready to quit the band and go with me, but then I told him that that wasn't necessary." She flushed slightly. "I think I upset him a bit."

Madonna frowned. "Oz! You did more than just upset him, and you know it. The relationship may have meant nothing to you, but Bob loves you. I bet you just about broke his heart!"

Oz's pretty face flushed even more, and her eyes became mysteriously shiny. "I know, but _I_ don't love Bob, Madonna. Poor Bob, he's such a sweet guy beneath that whole 'tough guy' thing, and I just felt as if I was using him. I couldn't do that to him anymore, Mads."

Madonna crinkled her delicate nose in disgust. "Sure you couldn't. We all know you're a heartbreaker, Oz. Not that you always were, mind you, it seems to be a more recent thing. You really went off the rails when Brit died, didn't you?" Oz was shaking now, but Madonna wasn't finished yet. Over the years her fun loving friend had turned into someone irrecognisable, and it was about time that she realised it. "We make a great pair, don't we?" Madonna laughed. "The drunk and the nymphomanic."

"Oh, stop it!" Oz exclaimed hysterically, bursting into tears. "You've got it wrong, I'm not like that at all, please, Mads…"

Madonna put her arm around the petite blonde, realising that she had taken it one step too far. "Hey, Ozzy, it's alright… You know me, I can't control myself," she murmured as Oz cried herself out on her shoulder.

_Ain't it fun when your friends despise what you've become…_

This went of for quite a while, until suddenly Oz pulled back. "I'm not Charlotte, Mads," she whispered.

Madonna sighed. "I know."

Oz gave a tiny, uncertain smile. "Good. I mean, I'm never one to turn down an offer, but somehow I don't think that that's what you need right now."

Madonna made a face. "No, definatly not." She gazed into space for a while, trying to think of another topic. "Oh, it might interest you to know that Cheeky Fairy died," she added as an afterthought.

Oz's face fell. "That explains the black clothes," she observed. "Well, I'm not exactly surprised."

Madonna laughed again. It was good to have someone to talk to after so many days spent simply sculling down vodkas. "Um, Lulu died too," she said softly.

This caused a little more reaction in Oz. "How?" she whispered.

Now it was Madonna's turn to shrug. "When you chase the dragon, I guess it eventually turns around and gets you."

Oz murmured in agreement, then resumed staring at the tabletop. "Well, only the good die young, I guess."

"Well, that means I'll live to a ripe old age," Madonna said dryly.

Oz looked up. "Don't flatter yourself, Mads."

Madonna groaned and leant back against the bar. "What's become of us, Oz?" she asked. "Here we are, ten years after the event that supposedly was going to make all of our dreams come true, and yet we're still as fucked up as we were before."

Oz inclined her head slightly. "Dreams don't make you immortal. I learnt that long ago." Smiling slightly in recognition of the song that was playing, she tapped the rhythm on the tabletop with her fingernails, singing along softly. _"I punched my fist right through the glass, but I didn't even feel it, it happened so fast, it's such fun, such fun, such fun…"_

Oz's voice faded out and Madonna noted sadly how raspy her friend's voice had become. Alkohol did nothing for the vocal chords. "C'mon. Lets drink ourselves to sleep, and if one of us wakes up in the morning, we'll consider it a bonus."

Oz raised her glass with a trembling hand. "Sounds fantastic." With that, the two women determindly banged their glasses together, sending a fair amount of grog spilling onto the carpet.

_Ain't it fun when you know that you're gonna die young, it's such fun._

_Such fun,_

_Such fun,_

_Such fun…_

Err. Um, how do I explain this one? I won't even attempt it. Anyway, I'll leave it up to you to decide what happens to Mads and Oz. The fic wasn't meant to be this long, or even this angsty… But that's why you all love me, isn't it?


End file.
